


Still Young

by halepeter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halepeter/pseuds/halepeter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is lonely and so is Stiles. Rentboy AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Young

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted anything like this online before. I hope it's okay.

Peter was the only one Stiles liked. The other men were fine. He enjoyed them, most times. But he liked Peter. He looked forward to when he would knock on the door, the only one who knocked. He liked the way Peter would thank him afterwards. Stiles would say, ‘My pleasure,’ and wasn’t a lie. Stiles was happy when he was with Peter. If he were to really think on it, he would think about how it scared him to feel like this about a client. About how the other boys had warned him not to get attached. But he tried not to think too much. He convinced himself that he was just providing a service. What Peter wanted.

He’d come on Monday afternoons, had been for close to seven months, and it was always the same. Peter would lie on his stomach; hide the scars under sheets. He wanted to take Stiles into him. Eyes closed tight and a fist clenching around himself, Stile’s breath at his neck, until Peter gave a soft gasp and it was over. It never took more than fifteen minutes and more often than not, after Peter had thanked him and left more money than he owed on the side table, Stiles would find himself thinking about Peter’s white knuckles and pink scars and quiet climax as he finished himself.

 

*

 

Wednesdays were Stiles’ day off, spent in his small apartment, taking an online course in English. That’s what he said he did with his time, if anyone asked. He wasn’t ashamed of his job, but he was aware of the opinions people had about his kind, and it was easier to avoid the subject than to get into a discussion. It was just a stepping-stone, anyway. That’s what he told himself on days he didn’t like his job. Just for now. Until something better came along. Until he could get out of this city. 

He had a picture of a cabin in the woods beside his desk. It was cut from a brochure he had taken from a travel agent had offered him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her he couldn’t and wouldn’t be taking the holiday she was trying to sell, so instead he told her he’d go home and talk about it with his partner. He wished he were telling the truth. The city was lonelier than he thought any place could be.

 

*

 

Weeks would pass without incident. Stiles would see his men, some more than others. Sometimes he would come home with bruises and sometimes with a piece of jewellery. He would always sell those, put the money towards rent and utilities. Somewhere along the line, Stiles and Peter started talking beforehand. He wasn’t sure why or when it started, but it had become a kind of routine. Mostly Stiles would listen, because he felt like that’s what Peter wanted. 

Peter was thirty-six. He had lost his wife in a fire. Stiles offered his sympathy, but Peter said neither of them were happy, anyway. He had been afraid to tell her about his taste for men for the twelve years they were together and it was a relief to not have to worry about being caught anymore. Stiles didn’t quite understand how Peter talked so easily about her, but he didn’t try. It was just one of those things one couldn’t know.

One Monday, he asked Stiles, ‘What about you?’ He didn’t know what to say, so he told Peter about the picture of the cabin. How he hoped to find some place peaceful one day. ‘You’re still young. There’s time.’

In the meantime, Stiles found peace where he could. Between sheets, against Peter, holding Peter’s white knuckles between his own until those small sighs brought him back to himself. A lonely kid doing what had to be done to stay afloat in a lonely city.


End file.
